


Untitled Robot Porn

by xpityx



Category: Lost in Space (TV 2018)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-03 23:55:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14580450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xpityx/pseuds/xpityx
Summary: The Robot catches John masturbating. They talk about poetry and then they fuck.(Seriously)





	Untitled Robot Porn

**Author's Note:**

> THERE ARE SO MANY OTHER THINGS I SHOULD BE DOING.
> 
> Not beta'd because I just want to post this and my beta lives about eight time zones away from me. Let me know if you see anything particularly insane (spelling/grammar wise, not plot wise - I'm aware of the plot insanity)

 

Having the ship to himself meant privacy, which meant taking care of certain needs. He’d learnt during long years in the Navy that you took what you could get when you could get it, so even on the downward slope to 50 he could near-silently jerk off in under ten minutes. Today, however, his dick was not co-operating. Or his mind, it was one or the other.

 

After nearly twenty minutes he was starting to chafe and get annoyed at himself. Fuck knew when he’d have another opportunity, and he knew from experience it was best to toss one out when he had a chance, rather than risk getting frustrated when he didn’t have the necessary privacy.

 

“Help John Robinson?” A monotone voice stated from somewhere close by.

 

“What the FUCK?” John half-yelled as he jerked back on the bed.

 

The Robot was stood at the entrance to the cabin, light swirling across its visor. He thought it had gone with William, and cursed himself for not checking first.

 

He collapsed backwards onto the bed, his breathing gradually slowing to normal. He was sure many years from now he’d look back on this moment and laugh, but right now he was lying on a bed, his sweatpants tucked under his balls, with the first fucking alien to ever be encountered watching his dick soften.

 

“Help?” It repeated.

 

“No. No thank you.” He said, then levered himself up and pulled up his sweatpants. He was still shirtless, but he assumed the Robot didn’t have any semi-nudity taboos.

 

The Robot took two steps forward, well into his person space. He would’ve stepped back, but with the bed behind him there was nowhere to go, so instead he pulled himself up to his full height.

 

“What are you doing?” He asked, in a tone that any human would recognise as dangerous.

 

“Not hurt John Robinson. Not hurt Robinsons.”

 

He was ashamed then. He let this thing look after his son, his family, but he was to afraid to let it touch him?

 

The Robot seemed to sense his resolve and reached until its hand was in his hair, its digits resting directly over a small scrap of shrapnel he'd got as a souvenir from an IED some ten years ago.

 

Nothing. And then everything. He could see himself, small and human before this monstrous machine. He could feel the hum of the engines and the crack of ice far above. The wind in the distant trees and the warmth of his son’s hand in his. For a sliver of a second he was a tiny part of an endlessly wheeling universe… and then he was himself again, gasping on the floor.

 

The Robot stood exactly as he had been, arm outstretched to the point where John had been standing.

 

“What.” He tried.

 

“Too much.” The Robot confirmed.

 

John decided that the floor was a fine place to be for the time being. It wasn't like anyone could see him.

 

“Again, John Robinson.”

 

 _I must be fucking insane_ , he thought, and slowly got to his feet, pressing his head under the Robot’s unyielding hand.

 

It was less this time. He wasn't sure how, but as no human had experienced this, he wasn't going to be too hard on himself for not having the necessary vocabulary to describe it.

 

Lights flickered at the edge of his vision, all the colours in existence and then a blank space either side that suggested there were more shades, just out of reach of his human perceptions. A repeating phrase of something that might be words grew and then faded, and the lights grew brighter and dimmer according to some inner rhythm.

 

 _What is it?_ He asked, or tried to, but the thought didn't quite reach his voice.

 

IT IS POETRY, the Robot replied, echoing in his mind.

 

 _Telepathy_ , he thought, calm now he was in a totally unknowable situation. It was part of the reason the Navy had never been able to let him go.

 

 _Wait, you know what_ _poetry_ _is?_ John thought, disbelieving.

 

The lights dimmed and faded into nothing.

 

BETTER THAN YOU, came the reply.

 

John frowned, and the Robot answered as though he’d asked a question.

 

YOU THINK YOU KNOW POETRY AND PLEASURE. THE SPAN OF THESE THINGS. YOU ARE TOO NARROW. TRAPPED IN MEAT AND WORDS.

 

Well, there was no real answer to that. Although the thought of humans being able to communicate telepathically was terrifying.

 

YES.

 

John looked up at the Robot, who mimicked his gesture with eerie grace, tilting his head until they were eye to, well, visor.

 

 _What_ _are_ _you?_

 

For a second he thought he wasn’t going to get a reply, then there was a feeling, like when you solve a difficult problem: the opening up of the mind to incorporate new knowledge, but it was a thousand times stronger. It lasted only a moment, but John felt as if he’d stepped onto a land mine and survived the ensuing blast.

 

“OK,” he said out loud, mostly to check he still had a head and a mouth, “OK. New plan: let’s not do that again.”

 

HELP JOHN ROBINSON. WITH PLEASURE.

 

An imagine flared up across his vision, like the most realistic VR he'd ever seen: him bent over on the edge of the bed, frustration clear from the set of his shoulders.

 

_I’m not sure that you understand what you're asking._

 

UNDERSTAND

 

Another image replaced it, and John felt his face start to heat in response. In it he was face down on the bed, naked, writhing on two of the Robot’s thick digits.

 

_Jesus._

 

Again, the image faded to be replaced with another, even more explicit scene: John on his knees, teeth gritted as he worked himself up and down on an appendage beyond his line of sight at the Robot’s feet.

 

_Fuck. OK, I don't even want to know where you're getting those images from._

 

YOUR MIND

 

He glared, but with little effect.

 

_Can you even consent?_

 

NOT SPARKLING. UNDERSTAND PLEASURE. UNDERSTAND CONSENT.

 

 _What do you get from this?_ He asked, genuinely curious.

 

PLEASURE.

 

John’s thoughts stuttered to an abrupt halt.

 

MANY TYPES OF PLEASURE JOHN ROBINSON.

 

He had the feeling that if sighing were something it did, it would be doing so now.

 

Well. In the spirit of scientific discovery… He eyed the Robot suspiciously for a moment - the effect most likely ruined by the erection he was sporting - before dropping his sweatpants and getting back on the bed. This time he lay on his front, mostly because he was not sure he could cope with watching it do whatever it was about to do. There was a short pause while John debated his sanity, then a cool, slick finger pushed firmly into his ass. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to relax, which lasted all of the second it took for it to find his prostate and rub against it. John bucked against the sheets, reaching down to touch his dick: he wasn’t going to last long. The Robot’s other hand moved over the back of his head until it was once again touching the tiny piece of shrapnel buried under his skin. Then he saw himself, laid out on the bed, but in the image he had his hands above his head. Well, never let it be said that John Robinson couldn’t take orders when he saw the sense in them. He reached out and grabbed the headboard with both hands, and the Robot moved its hand back down to the dip of his back, taking its vision with him and effectively pinning him to the bed. Unable to get enough leverage to thrust, he squirmed as it began to move its thick finger in circles over his prostate. It was almost too much stimulation, and John panted as he tried to gather the words to say so, but the Robot pushed a second finger against the stretched rim of his ass, the tip just making it inside. It was too much for him, and he came with a shout, writhing against the intrusion.

 

When he came back to himself a little the Robot’s hand was back on his head and he could see lights dancing across the dark. Then it drew back and strode from the room. At first he wasn't sure what he'd seen within the Robot’s mind, then he recognised the pattern of neurons lit up within a human brain. His brain, he assumed. Now he recognised what it was it couldn't be anything else, but for a moment he thought he was looking at the stars.

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [tumblr](http://xpityx.tumblr.com/).


End file.
